was not beloved of the villagers,
all because I spoke my mind,
met those who transgressed against me
plain remonstrance, hiding nor nurturing
secret griefs nor grudges.
act of the Spartan boy is greatly praised,
hid the wolf under his cloak,
it devour him, uncomplainingly.
is braver, I think, to snatch the wolf forth
fight him openly, even in the street,
dust and howls of pain.
tongue may be an unruly member—
silence poisons the soul.
me who will—I am content.